


Accidents Happen

by Sabeley



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabeley/pseuds/Sabeley
Summary: Buck accidentally sends Eddie a dick pic. Eddie kinda likes it.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 546





	Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a hot second since I posted anything, but...Happy Valentine’s Day?

Eddie’s helping Christopher get ready for bed when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. It’s Buck. He knows it’s Buck. Buck is the only one who ever texts him after 9PM. 

They had been having a heated discussion for most of the night about whether a Baby Breeza was an appropriate gift for Maddie and Chim’s baby shower on Saturday, but Eddie thought he had talked him down off of that particular ledge already. Regardless, it wasn’t a conversation he was in any hurry to resume, so he takes his time tucking his son into bed and doesn’t bother to check his phone again until he’s alone in the living room. 

Thank god. 

Because there on the screen, in all of its unfiltered glory, is a picture of Buck’s penis. 

Eddie almost drops the phone. 

The picture’s taken from above with the owner of the penis in question only visible from the neck down, so for a second, Eddie’s almost able to convince himself that it isn’t Buck—as if Buck sending him a picture of some _other_ dude’s penis might actually be preferable—but it is undeniably him. Eddie has seen him without a shirt on enough times to be intimately familiar with the contours of his chest and as if that wasn’t enough, there’s the small issue of the tattoo on his right arm, which is clearly visible as Buck holds his erect cock off of his stomach. 

Eddie gets hard so fast his vision blurs and unbelievably, the first coherent thought he has is, _he took my advice about the lighting_. And boy, did he, because Eddie is looking at the Michelangelo of dick pics. All warm light and hard angles and _penis_. There’s nothing feminine about it—no curves, no breasts, no way Eddie can twist it in his mind to make it fit into the heterosexual box he’s been trying to force himself into. 

It’s Buck. 

And he wants him anyway. 

It’s not like he hadn’t always known, on some level, that this was a possibility. That when he lays in bed at night, achingly alone, and touches himself, he doesn’t notice where his thoughts drift. How sometimes he’s the one doing the fucking and how sometimes he’s the one getting fucked and how Buck’s voice is there through all of it, teasing him to climax. He just never in a million years thought it would go farther than confusing orgasms in the dead of the night. He never thought he would have to face this head-on and figure out what it means. 

Did Buck _mean_ to send him this? Surely not. But he honestly isn’t sure which is worse: the thought that this picture was meant for him or the thought that maybe it might be meant for someone else. 

Jealousy that he has no right to feel pools in his gut, but he pushes it down and heads into the kitchen instead, determined to regain some semblance of normalcy even if he has to take it by force. He’s still so painfully hard that it is, quite frankly, embarrassing, but he’s always been a big fan of ignoring problems until they go away. So he cleans up the leftover pizza from their dinner and wills his body to forget what his mind can’t, both hoping for and dreading a follow-up text from Buck that could, very possibly, derail his whole life. 

When he climbs into bed himself twenty minutes later, wearing only loose-fitted sweatpants, he’s still confused, he’s still hard, and he wants to touch himself, but he can’t. Because what if that picture wasn’t meant for him? He isn’t going to jack off to his best friend’s penis without his consent. Because _that_ would just be ridiculous. 

So he picks up his phone, determinedly does _not_ stare lovelorn at the picture, and tries to figure out what in the world to say to make this better. To fix something he’s not even sure is broken. He thinks about going for something nonchalant, something cocky, something like “Wrong number, Romeo,” but there’s this small ember of hope burning inside of him that he doesn’t want to extinguish. An ember he had always ignored because he knew that if it ignited, it would burn him to the ground. 

Instead, he sends a single question mark, throws his phone onto the sheets next to him, buries his face into his hands, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. Within seconds, Buck is calling him. 

Eddie groans, embarrassment roiling in his gut. And logically, he knows he isn’t the one who should be embarrassed—that he’s just the unwitting recipient here—but he doesn’t know how to talk about it and pretend like it didn’t mean something. He doesn’t know how to talk to Buck while he’s still hard and not give everything away. 

“That was not meant for you!” Buck says as soon as the call connects. Eddie’s stomach drops. So there _is_ someone else. 

He clears his throat and tries to play it off as if he hadn’t been hoping for anything different. “No. I, um, figured. It’s not a big deal, Buck. I’ll delete the picture. You don’t have to worry.” 

“I’m not worried about _that_!” Buck continues. “Christopher didn’t see it, did he? God, I’m _so_ sorry, Eddie. This is some Buck 1.0 shit. I was messaging this dude from Tinder and he sent me a dick pic and honestly, he’s not even that attractive, but I’m a big fan of reciprocity, you know?” 

He says it so casually. Just some “dude from Tinder.” As if this isn’t Earth-shattering information. As if Eddie knowing Buck was talking to dudes from Tinder wouldn’t have changed everything years ago. 

“It’s fine, Buck. Christopher didn’t see it. No harm done.” 

He’s not even sure Buck is listening. He just keeps apologizing. “And now I’ve probably scarred you for life!” 

He pauses as if he actually expects Eddie to agree with him and Eddie has no idea what to say. He could laugh it off—probably _should_ laugh it off—but his dick is still tenting his pants and he can’t stop thinking about _Buck’s_ dick and how he kind of wants to taste it. He can’t force the words out. So he stays silent, trying to come up with a plan, and the silence drags on until he has no options left but the truth. “I’m not...scarred.” 

Buck doesn’t say anything for what seems like a very long time. “No?” 

“No.” 

“Then keep the picture,” he says, a flirtatious lilt creeping into his voice. Eddie can feel his face flame. “Do what you want with it. You have my permission. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Um, yeah, I—” 

Buck hangs up, leaving Eddie alone, now more confused than ever. 

* 

He jerks off to the photo. More than once. It’s like he’s a teenager again and just discovered what his dick is good for. By the time he walks into the station the next morning, he’s tired, probably dehydrated, and very, very horny. 

He’s able to brush Cap, Chim, and Hen off with minimal excuses, but Buck has never been as easy to hide from. He joins Eddie in the locker room after only a few minutes, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He passes it over with an exaggerated grimace frozen on his face and despite everything, Eddie can’t help but smile. 

“Buck, it’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“I am _so_ sorry. _Again_ ,” Buck says, ignoring him completely. He’s right up in Eddie’s personal space now—space Eddie used to be accustomed to him occupying—but Eddie’s apparently given himself some kind of complex in the past twelve hours because now he’s getting hard at the sight of Buck’s tattoo alone. 

Motherfucker. It’s going to be a long day. 

Still, despite Buck’s practiced bravado, his eyes are imploring, as if, like Eddie, he needs to know that whatever happened between them through the protective lens of a telephone screen hasn’t broken everything they’ve worked so hard to build. So Eddie chokes down what he’s feeling and tries to pretend that his world hasn’t suddenly come untethered. 

“You know, it wasn’t even that memorable,” he jokes, and then bursts out laughing at the offended look on Buck’s face. He shoves his best friend’s shoulder playfully and then slams his locker shut. “Seriously, man. It’s fine. Accidents happen. Don’t worry about it.” 

Buck lets out a sigh of relief and his whole body relaxes. “Thank god. I was so worried things were going to get weird. You know, I accidentally tried to get in the shower with Maddie once, so this is not even close to the most embarrassing thing I’ve done with my—” 

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Eddie interrupts. 

“Fair enough,” Buck laughs. His eyes snag briefly on where the fabric of Eddie’s LAFD T-shirt stretches tightly across the plains of his chest and when he looks up again, his cheeks are pink. But then he shakes his head and turns around as if he can hide the evidence if he runs away fast enough. “I’ll, um, see you out there.” 

Then he’s gone. And things are...normal. Ish. Give it a week and it’ll be like nothing has changed. 

Except everything has changed. And there’s no going back now. 

* 

Buck, apparently, is a big fan of reciprocity. That’s all Eddie’s been able to think about since he crawled into bed. Well, that _and_ the picture. 

Eddie saves it to a locked album on his phone, but deletes it from the text thread so that Christopher won’t stumble upon it accidentally. He’s gotten bad about stealing Eddie’s phone to text Buck and although it’s a habit he is trying to train him out of, he isn’t making much headway since Buck does nothing but encourage the behavior. So the picture of Buck’s penis has just been sitting there all day—waiting for him. But no matter how badly Eddie wants to, he can’t bring himself to open it. 

Because of reciprocity. 

He can’t just lie here every night for the rest of forever jacking off to a nude that was sent to him by accident. That wouldn't be fair. 

At least not if he doesn’t return the favor. 

It’s an idea that had taken ahold of him only after copious amounts of alcohol, but so what if he’s a little drunk? He’s having a sexuality crisis in his thirties. He’s allowed. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he throws back his covers, strips off his clothes, and pulls out his phone. Then he just stares at the camera app, questioning every decision in his life that has led him to this moment. 

He turns on a lamp for better lighting—because he’s _clearly_ lost his goddamn mind—and then strokes himself until he’s hard and aching, imagining that it’s Buck’s hand, not his, that is taking him apart. 

He lies back on his pillows, flexes his abs, and takes probably twenty pictures before he gets one that doesn’t completely suck. There’s a very prominent dick in it, anyway, and he figures that is probably the point. He zooms in just far enough to notice that there’s a bead of precome leaking from the tip and it kind of makes him feel like a slut, but he is kind of too turned on to care. 

Before he has time to come to his senses, he sends the picture to Buck with the caption, “It’s yours. Do what you want with it.” 

It’s ten long minutes before Buck calls and although Eddie had been expecting it—had _wanted_ it—his stomach still twists uncomfortably. What if he had gone too far? 

He answers the call, knowing that nothing will ever be the same, and hoping that maybe, just maybe, it will all be for the better. “Hello?” 

“Holy _shit_ , Eddie. I had that guy over here. What are you trying to do? Kill me?” 

Fuck. The dude from Tinder. Of course. Eddie’s an idiot. “Shit. Sorry. I totally forgot. I’ll let you get back to your—” 

“Are you crazy? I sent him home. That picture was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. What’re we—What’re you—Eddie, what do you want? Because—yes. To whatever it is. One hundred percent yes. I want it too.” 

Eddie suddenly feels like he’s flying, his heart so light that it lifts him to a place he’s never known existed. “You,” he says and he hopes Buck knows that he means for more than just tonight. “I want you.” 

“Okay,” Buck laughs and there’s so much joy behind that single word that Eddie feels dizzy with it. “God, my heart is pounding so hard right now. Look, I would love nothing more than to come to your place and have my way with you, but you’ve given me like zero warning, and I am _way_ too tipsy to drive. So we’re just going to have to phone it in for the night. But, like, I am _really_ good at this. You have no idea. Me and Abby used to—" 

Eddie can’t help the growl that escapes him at the mention of Buck’s ex-girlfriend. “Buck,” he warns. 

“Right. Sorry. Are you still...?” He trails off as if he doesn’t know how to politely ask if Eddie is still hard, but Eddie’s too far gone to bother with propriety. 

“Fuck yes,” he says, spreading his legs on instinct. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that picture since you sent it.” 

“Did you jerk off to it?” Buck asks, his voice husky. Eddie thought he had experienced the full ambit of Evan Buckley’s emotions over the years, but this raw sensuality was new and it did things to him that he didn’t even know were possible. He’d never been this turned on in his life. Not with Shannon. Not before. He thought he’d known what lust felt like. He was wrong. 

“Yeah,” he admits breathlessly. “I did.” 

“How many times?” 

Eddie bites his lip to keep from cursing. That was a secret he had genuinely hoped to take to his grave. “Five,” he says through gritted teeth. Once in the showers at the station with Buck in the stall next to him. That was a low point in his life that he was never going to recover from. 

Buck makes a keening sound at the back of his throat that shoots through Eddie like a live wire, electrifying everything in its wake. “God, that’s hot. I wanted you to, you know. As soon as I realized what I'd done, it was all I could think about. I hadn’t even bothered to jerk off after I took the picture in the first place, but when I knew _you_ had it...Shit, Eddie. I don’t know if I’ve ever come that hard.” 

Eddie’s erection, which had flagged in his initial panic at the phone call, is now back in full force and his hips are jerking up of their own accord, seeking friction where there isn’t any. He wants to touch himself, but he knows that if he does, this will be over before it even starts. So he lets Buck’s voice trail over him like fingertips and shivers at the touch. 

“Are you jerking off _now_?” Buck asks. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“God, yes.” 

So Eddie does. He takes himself in hand and thrusts up into his own fist, wishing it was someone else’s. He’s embarrassingly close already. It’s been so long since he was touched by another person that just the sound of Buck’s voice in his ear is enough to trick him into believing that he is not alone. That there is a tight, warm heat waiting for him. That there is a body he can bury himself into. 

“Shit, you’re actually doing it,” Buck says in awe and Eddie would be dumbfounded that he doubted him in the first place if he wasn’t already far past the point of rational thought. “Can I—Do you mind if I—?” 

It takes Eddie a second to realize he’s asking for permission to touch himself too. “Please.” 

The guttural groan Buck elicits next sounds like it was punched out of him and Eddie has to take his hand off of his cock to keep from coming right then. Then he lays there, panting, listening to Buck through the phone. He’s so responsive—even to his own hand. Eddie can hear every small whine, every rustle of sheets, and Buck must have real lube like an actual sex-having adult because there’s a soft _squelch_ from the other end of the line that is doing things to him. It’s letting him track the rhythm of Buck’s strokes and pretend that it’s him doing the stroking. He puts his hand back on his cock and tries to match what he’s hearing through the phone. It’s not enough. He needs more. 

And then Buck starts talking. 

“God, I want to suck your dick. That picture, man? It fucking did something to me. I need you inside of me like right now. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” 

Eddie can’t help himself. “How long?” 

He listens as Buck’s strokes slow and then there’s a few seconds of silence. “Since that first day,” he says and he sounds _wrecked_. “You were standing there, shirtless—the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life—and all I wanted you to do was push me up against the lockers and fuck me right there, but I didn’t know how to handle that because you were a _man_ and my _coworker_ , so I just...spiraled into a fit of jealous rage instead.” 

__

“It was hot,” Eddie remembers. “I liked it.” And then, completely unbidden, because sex has never been just a casual thing for him, he adds, “I like _you_.” 

Buck laughs. “I like you, too, you idiot.” 

And then his strokes speed back up and his breathing shallows and Eddie swears he can hear his heartbeat through the phone. He’s so close, leaking all over his hand. The muscles in his groin are straining in an effort to last just a little while longer, but it’s too much. _Buck_ is too much. 

“Tell me when you’re close,” Buck says, his voice shaking. 

“I’m close,” Eddie answers desperately, too far gone to bother being embarrassed by his lack of stamina. 

“Oh, thank god,” Buck breathes. “Me too. I want to hear you come for me, baby.” 

Eddie’s not sure if it’s the direct order or the term of endearment or just the sound of Buck’s voice that pushes him over the edge, but he falls nevertheless, coming so hard that his vision darkens as his stomach is painted with his own come. Buck follows soon after and for the first time all night, Eddie is aware of what torture it is to be able to hear, but not see. 

Afterwards, they lay in separate beds spread across the city, listening to each other breathe. Eddie’s heart is racing from a mixture of exertion and something that feels suspiciously like love, but he doesn’t give voice to it, scared that it might crumble into the night. 

“I can come by in the morning if you want,” Buck finally says and he sounds happy. Sated. “We can talk.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles. “I would like that.” 

Then he closes his eyes and falls asleep to the phantom touch of Buck’s arms wrapped around him tight. 

* 

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of laughter and when he wanders into the kitchen half-asleep, it is to find Buck flipping pancakes on the griddle as Christopher dances around him, still in his pajamas. For several long seconds, Eddie just stands in the doorway and stares. At his life. At his family. Then Buck looks over at him and smiles so widely that it cracks his chest right open. 

“We thought we would let you sleep in,” Buck says and then smirks. “I heard your night was a bit...exhausting.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s too tired to come up with a response appropriate enough to say in front of a fifth grader. Instead, he sidles up behind Buck, wraps his arms around his waist, and kisses his neck, wanting him to know that nothing has changed with the light of day. Buck leans into his touch, melts into his arms, and although they haven’t talked about anything yet, they don’t need to. Buck has found his way home and if Eddie has anything to say about it, that is where he’ll stay. Every day for the rest of their lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated ❤️


End file.
